


Nobody Cares About the Man in the Box

by Quasar



Category: The Prestige (2006)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Quasar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five people who might have used Tesla's machine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Cares About the Man in the Box

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gloriana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloriana/gifts).



> Written for the Escapade Try a New Fandom panel. _The Prestige_ is a complex movie with amazing plot twists. Reading this story before seeing the movie may be confusing and will spoil some of the plot twists, so I recommend you see the movie first.

##   
Nikola Tesla

 _Have you considered the cost?_

"I'm so sorry, doctor," said Alley, lifting boxes from the platform up to the train. "I never thought you would - he - would try to confront them."

"He didn't," said Tesla softly. "We forgot something. He went back for it."

"It was an accident, I think. One of them pushed, and he hit his head."

"Was he still alive, when…?" Tesla looked back up the hill, at the glow of firelight that was beginning to become more visible as daylight waned. Then he turned away and mounted the steps to the train.

"I don't know. I don't know. They didn't try to pull him out of the way."

"A terrible way to die. Terrible. But I think, perhaps, it was simply not meant to be. Two such minds should not exist in close proximity. I should never have tested the device myself until we were sure the problem was fixed." He sighed heavily, thinking of enlivening conversations that now would never happen except in the privacy of his own mind. He should have destroyed the machine rather than let it exist in such an imperfect state, but he couldn't bear to let all that work go to waste.

Alley finished stowing their bags and sat on the compartment's opposite bench. "What do you suppose Edison will do, when his men report back?"

"They will tell him that I am dead. Perhaps he will make some announcement… but no. I think he will be more circumspect. There is no notice in the papers, no outcry. He will wait. He will show no one his surprise and dismay when next we meet."

"Dismay? Relief, I would think. Finding out he's not a murderer after all?"

Tesla looked out the window as the train began to move. "Oh, but he is. And so, perhaps, am I." What would become of his machine now? And what responsibility did he bear for the uses it might be put to?

* * *

##   
Robert Angier

 _It's very rare to see real magic._

The trap door worked just as expected; he'd told Cutter it was only a backup in case the transportation machine malfunctioned. But because Cutter was watching, Robert had arranged a mattress beneath the stage instead of a tank. There was no time to change the setup when Ackerman appeared earlier than expected and demanded a demonstration.

Robert fell onto the mattress, gasping with the pain in his bad knee. He heard voices above: his own voice, declaiming in triumph to Ackerman. And once again he was the man in the box, taking his bows beneath the stage.

He had to get out. Angier, the other Angier, would be back as soon as he could get rid of Ackerman, and he would bring a weapon. Robert could lie in wait to surprise him - or he could leave. It was a possibility that had occurred to him before.

He caught a cab to the train station, counting the money in his pocket. No time to go back to the hotel for more; Angier might catch him there. He had to go someplace unexpected, someplace unpredictable. He looked at the bustling platforms and puffing trains, trying to think like someone else. How could he outthink himself?

Then he smiled. He had a deck of cards in his jacket. No one could predict something that was random, could they? Four suits, four trains that would be leaving the station in the next fifteen minutes. He cut the deck and drew a card.

The better part of a year later, on the night of Alfred Borden's execution, Robert stood once again outside the decrepit theater at 230 Aldwych. While he hesitated, he saw Cutter leave and Fallon enter, then minutes later he heard a gunshot and the crackle of a growing fire that promised to bring down half the block of rotting buildings, concealing a multitude of sins in ash and rubble. It was done, and he had no hand in it. And no man alive knew of his existence.

He could contact Owens, relaim his ancient heritage. Or he could travel abroad, go anywhere, be anyone that he liked. Slowly, he moved his hand from the butt of the pistol in his pocket, and reached for his deck of cards instead.

* * *

  


##   
Jessica Borden

 _The secret is nothing. What you do with it is everything._

Jess snuggled into her new, smaller bed. The linens were worn soft as velvet, not like the stiff cold ones at Lord Caldlow's manor. She kept her eyes squeezed tight, but really she wasn't sleepy. She listened to Daddy talking to his friend.

"I can't thank you enough, Cutter. If you hadn't come to find me…"

"I did you wrong. Or at least, I helped him do wrong. I watched what he was becoming. Someone had to put a stop to it. I'm so sorry about your - about Fallon."

Jess squeezed her eyes tighter as tears threatened to leak out. She missed Fallon too.

"How did you know?"

"Oh, well… from the first, I knew it had to be a double. There was no other way."

"There was Tesla's way."

"No, you're right, I never thought of that. Never even knew it was possible. But once I did know, I could see you never used a machine like Angier. I just wasn't sure how you got around the problem we had with Root. It wasn't until I saw your little girl, and realized you'd entrusted her to Fallon… then I knew it had to be more than just a double."

"Whatever price my brother paid, you've made it right by bringing Jess back to me."

Jess was glad to be with Daddy, glad she had been the one playing outside when Mr. Cutter came by. She wondered if she should tell Daddy about Sarah. About how, when she first went to Lord Caldlow's house, Jess had cried and cried. Because Mommy was gone, and Daddy was in that awful gaol, and Fallon had lifted her into the carriage and waved goodbye, and now her doll was broken! It was too much, even when the nurse promised her a whole set of new dolls.

But Lord Caldlow said she could have something better than a doll. She could have a sister of her very own. And it was wonderful, at first, having someone to play with every day. But sometimes her sister got things that Jess wanted. And sometimes it was the other way around. Jess was the one who got to go to the gaol and see Daddy, and Sarah was so jealous hearing about it later, after they each said good night to Lord Caldlow in turn. But the next day they switched places; she was Sarah and had to be pretty and sweet to Lord Caldlow's guests, while her sister got to be Jess and play with dolls and stay away from grownups.

There was only one Daddy now, and no Fallon, and no more switching places. Jess didn't want to share. Sarah could stay with Lord Caldlow.

* * *

 

##   
Albert Borden

 _It's not enough to make something disappear. You have to bring it back._

Bertie paced the room. "All right, so we're agreed." He paused by the X drawn in chalk on the floor, staring down at it blindly. "I can't go on like this. I can't do it all alone. I mean, look at me!" He laughed, whirled, gestured at the empty space. "I'm talking to no one, just because… because I'm used to having someone." He swallowed hard.

"So." Three quick strides brought him to the the grating, the switch. "The man who ends up here, the man in the box, will be Albert. The transported man, over there, that will be Alfred." He knew neither of them - neither of _him_ \- could bear to be called Freddie, but over the years the hybrid name had become familiar. He could accept that.

He touched the small scar on his neck, the one they had carefully created and inked to look just like Freddie's natural mole. "Not meant to be alone," he murmured. Decisively, he threw the switch and stepped through the gate, into the waiting arms of the machine.

For a moment everything went black, like being stunned or waking from a deep sleep. The two men looked at each other.

"It won't be the same," both said simultaneously. They both laughed and then went still, staring. Each took two steps forward, stretched out his right hand toward the other.

"I'm not a copy," said the transported one, Alfred. "I don't feel like a copy. I feel just the same."

Albert nodded. "It's not like having a twin. Not really. But, over time, we'll grow different."

Alfred's eyebrows went up. "You don't sound like him. Like Freddie. Your voice is… lighter. Quieter."

"Yours too. Well. Same as mine, I guess."

"How did we get away with it for so long?"

Albert's mouth twitched. Together, they said, "Total devotion to the art."

They clapped each other on the shoulders. "Not like Angier," said one.

"Never. If it doesn't work out, we go our separate ways." They both glanced away, neither mentioning Jess.

"It'll work," said the other. "We'll figure it out."

Together they got to work packing the equipment away, back in the pyramid crate with the scorch marks down one side. They worked easily as a team with hardly a word.

* * *

##   
William McBride

 _Man's grasp exceeds his nerve._

"Good afternoon, Private. We all appreciate your volunteering for this duty."

Willie saluted crisply. He would do anything if he didn't have to go back to the front again, but he wasn't going to say that to a decorated staff officer.

"I hear you're quite the exemplary young soldier."

Willie cleared his throat. "I don't know about that, sir. I mean, I could outrun and outshoot the others in my company…" Not that that was very difficult anymore, seeing as most of the others were corpses.

"And you've distinguished yourself in the line of duty."

"I led a charge over the top, sir. 'S how I got shot." He touched his arm where the bandages had recently been removed.

"But you're quite recovered now."

"Yes, sir." The doctors had cleared him to go back to the trenches. He'd thought of refusing, thought of injuring himself so he could stay home. But he didn't want to hang for cowardice any more than he wanted to be in the war.

"And no family, I understand? No sweetheart waiting for you?"

"No sir. I didn't have no brothers or sisters, and my parents… they're gone. I have a few cousins, but I've not heard from them in a few years. That's all."

"Such a pity." Why did the general smile that way, as if it wasn't a pity at all?

The general led him down the hall and into a room with some big pieces of electrical equipment. A white-coated doctor waited to observe the experiment, in case of injury. There was another man standing there, scruffy and bearded and too thin like some of the refugees in France. But his dark eyes were alert, taking everything in, assessing Willie and then looking away.

"Now, this transporting equipment has been tested before and proved quite safe, isn't that right, Mr. ah… Browder, isn't it?"

The scruffy man nodded sharply. "Perfectly safe. It's been in storage for a few years, that's all. You'll get your money's worth, I assure you."

"We shall see if it still works as expected. Please stand in here, Private." The general paused a moment. "If this doesn't work, you will be released back to your normal duties. If it does work, we shall ask you to report back here again tomorrow for further testing."

Willie stood where they told him and kept very still as lightning struck all around. If it burned him, could he get a few more weeks on the sick list? He thought about touching the metal on either side. Then the lightning flashed more brightly than ever, and stopped. Willie blinked, wondering why he hadn't been transported to another room as they said. Did that mean it hadn't worked?

The scruffy man flashed his teeth. "See? Safe as houses."

The doctor asked Willie how he felt and if he could move his fingers and toes. A clerk in civvies stepped through the door and murmured to the general, whose bushy eyebrows flew up.

"Well!" The general coughed. "It seems the time spent in storage has rendered the machine ineffective."

The scruffy man looked startled and opened his mouth to object, but the general waved him down.

"This experiment has been a failure. Private McBride, we thank you for your service. My clerk has your orders ready; you're to return to the front. Mr. Browder, if you would accompany me."

Willie swallowed hard and tried to hide his terror as the others swirled out of door. When he'd gathered his composure he let the clerk lead him out. Down the hall he could see the general, the observing doctor, and scruffy Mr. Browder heading the other way, accompanied by another young soldier. The strange thing was, that young man's greatcoat had a stain on the back of the elbow just like Willie's own.


End file.
